2015 PhannieMay Prompt Responses
by millmasterwrites
Summary: A collection, in no particular order.
1. Portal

It lured him in.

Sure, it wasn't really the massive spectral gateway to the afterlife that was captivating the young half-ghost; it was the swirling zoned death beyond it. But the portal was definitely the way _in_.

Constantly he felt the tug of half of him wanting to revel in the energy of the dimension only one puny step out of his parents' laboratory. He found himself yearning to enter the zone and drift endlessly in a doze all day, and only crawl back out into the human realm in the obsidian of night. He wanted in. He wanted to finally succumb to the suffocating pull he'd been feeling for months, the one that so outweighed every mental barrier he'd ever built up around himself.

He was tired of it, really. When the sun was out, his eyes practically couldn't stay open for more than a second, sans when adrenaline was pumping through his veins during a ghostly issue. The moon and stars taking up their positions in the sky only meant that he was as wide awake as he could possibly be, all while having to round up even _more_ hyper-active ghosts and still feeling the bodily ache of exhaustion.

Being tired all the time wasn't fun. Sam thought that maybe he had chronic insomnia from all the stress of keeping up his dual life, and he let her believe it. He wasn't about to tell her and Tucker what the real reason was. _He_ didn't even know what the real goddamn reason was.

And so Danny found himself staring at the enormous vortex of green spectral energy like a kitten would gape at its first saucer of milk.

The portal was the source, right? The sole reason he'd gotten his powers? Lost half of his life?

He stepped up to it, face to spiraling hell.

It was the middle of the day, but it was still dark in the lab. School was nearly out, and his parents had taken Jazz out to visit a college for the weekend, something the junior had been ecstatic over. Danny hadn't really seen the point.

He was alone.

The cool darkness of the basement lab was in huge contrast to the warming May day outside, and the ripped hole in reality had drawn him in. He decided he wanted answers, and maybe some relief from his sleep deprivation.

He liked being himself. He had already decided that this life was definitely worth the hell. No one else was going to do his job the right way, anyway.

But to have some actual rest seemed nice.

The other ghosts belonged there, right? They could rest all they wanted. Why couldn't he? Just for a few hours or so?

He took a slow breath. The viridescence of his eyes matched the swirls of the metal-rimmed rip in the fibers of reality.

The portal was the way in. The portal was the reason for his meshed state on the planes of existence. The portal was the gateway to answers.

Settled inside the spectrally-sealed titanium-alloy cage that opened and closed for access, the portal was stable within the walls of the basement. Closing the gargantuan doors only covered it up; it was never _closed._

He'd been answering to his human side for fifteen years. No one could correctly call him a simple homosapien any longer without being fifty percent, and undeniably, dead wrong.

His other half needed _some_ attention.

Danny stepped in.


	2. Alternate Universe

Vlad sometimes simply hated _being_.

Sure. He had stolen riches galore, a handful of mansions to call his own, and several companies written under his name, but he just wasn't satisfied.

He was the only one of his kind. At least, as far as he knew, anyway.

Being half-ghost was, frankly, a dangerous state. No one could know his secret, except maybe the full ghosts, because they could easily detect a halfa's presence, if they had enough brains. But in the living realm, he was the grand billionaire, and human, Vladimir Masters.

He liked it that way. No one to boss him around, easy ways to get what he wanted...he could go on for hours about why it was amazing to have a powerful ghostly side.

His mansions were stocked with hired entities that he'd found wandering the zone, or had happened upon in the minion slave trade and felt that he could give them a slightly better afterlife. He needed the maintenance done, and they were available. Simple as that.

 _In fact_ , Vlad mused as he rounded a corner in his Wisconsin castle, _I could use a few more hands around here._

Taking several more turns through the winding hallways, the half-ghost paused in a lavishly furnished room lit by a fireplace, and phased into his main lab, hidden behind an elaborate decor.

Machines hummed and whirred on the constant as he strode past them and made his way towards the portal. His schedule was free. Picking up a stray ghost from the market would be a timely cinch.

Letting his core release exuberant spectral heat to trigger his transformation, Vlad slipped into the ghost zone. Exhilaration swept over him once he delved into the green, and he powered towards a spec of an island in the distance.

Melting into the ghostly crowd was simple. Finding a sufficient spectral employee or payable slave was not.

Hundreds of ghosts swarmed around Vlad, slightly irritating the bachelor. There were a lot of souls around today. Many of them were high-society spirits wanting to score cheap workers for their domains and lairs, while others were nasty, savage beasts wandering about looking for petty sustenance. Some were there to find pets. Some to find slaves to use as maids and butlers and all sorts of other jobs. Some, even, as Vlad theorized, were there to find a friend. Maybe even to start a foolish riot and free a plethora of ghosts and defy the zone's ways in an equalist movement.

Vlad snorted in disgust at the thought.

In between the bargainings for lesser ghosts, many goods could be found and traded. From odds and ends to ancient scriptures or everyday exotic prized possessions, nearly anything with spectral value could be found on the small island floating within the green swirls of the ghost zone. This black market was a strange place, if anything.

Vlad liked it. A lot.

Artifacts and other trivial things filled up his homes and provided some sort of character besides his obvious love for the Green Bay Packers. Ideas for spectral power enhancers flowed about the place, and so did the use of amazing abilities Vlad had seen over the years and gathered information on. Many of which, he exactly copied and honed his skills with.

He was powerful enough that he would most likely never deal with the possibility of ever becoming a victim of the trade, let alone perishing. Most of the other ghosts feared him and avoided him like the plague. He was strong, he was rich, and he was solitary and independent. If he didn't have any luck here, finding a ghost on his own wouldn't be too hard.

He drifted through the crowd, spying quick looks at a variety of possible guards for his castle. Many were too timid, too unfit, or too weak to be of any use to him. Yet, he continued on.

Jaw taught, the half-ghost noted a hulking mass of ghosts that could only logically be jeering at a minion that would not obey. The entities roared and cheered and sneered remarks and insults around in a circle, encompassing whatever lesser ghost was stirring up trouble.

He heard the tell-tale connecting smack of a fist into someone's gut and a loud, angry, "Get _off_ me!"

Ah, a fighter.

Vlad usually had little interest in employing ghosts that disobeyed every order and caused havoc in his household, but he floated over to the circle to have a good look, anyway. He peeked through the swathe of loud ghosts, some big and potbellied, others muscled, and shoved his way to the front. A few recognized Vlad's devil-horned hair and instantly backed off, clearing an effective path. Plasmius cooly stepped through them, fangs flashing in a smirk. Easy.

At the center of the crowd, a blur of black and white was dodging taser guns so fast that Vlad had to readjust his facial expression.

The ghost was definitely humanoid, wearing some kind of hazmat suit, much like his own, but it was primarily black. A blaze of white made up its hair, and it swung either away from or _at_ the market's hired security guards every time they came near. Vlad noticed the clinking glowing green chain that dangled from the specter's muddied white boot, tying it to the ground; a definite slave.

It was only when the creature turned burning green eyes on him and the rest of the intimidating crowd that Vlad recognized him. Danny Phantom.

The young ghost was stupid, in Vlad's opinion. He used his powers for "the good of humankind" and fought other ghosts out of his city. He was strong, sure, but the fact that he'd manifested in and helped _Jack's_ city made Vlad a tad bothered that he existed at all. Territorial _and_ dumb. How quaint. No wonder Phantom ended up on the wrong side of the trade.

The guards finally got a clear shot when someone from the crowd chucked something at the ghost and it lobbed him on the head. The boy was tased, and of course he screamed, making the circle of ghosts cheer louder. Walker's provided guards managed to chain down Phantom's other foot and one of his hands before they were all blasted back again.

Even still, there was potential in the ghost. He could fight, for sure, and, as Vlad began to realize, could be useful in the future as a bargaining item. He was positive Phantom had made several enemies over the past year. A lot of the the crowd seemed to really have a grudge for him.

Vlad needed the upper hand. He needed a slave that could fight. He could easily strengthen his skills with simple training.

As Walker's goons finally managed to pin down the struggling, spitting ghost and properly hand-cuff him, Vlad stepped up to name his price before the announcer even cleared his throat.

Slave 040304 was promptly sold to Vlad Plasmius for fourteen silver pieces.


	3. Dream

In reality, dreams were only supposed to last approximately ten minutes.

Danny was starting to think that nightmares were an entirely different story.

Lately, it had been a matter of finding time to and then actually _getting_ to sleep; tonight, he managed to clear the hurdle. After dumping the day's captured ghosts back into the zone around one in the morning, the young half-ghost made it to his room, kicked off his shoes, and promptly zonked out before his head hit the pillow. The first half hour of sleep had been peaceful and undisturbed. That was, until his brain decided it was time to switch gears.

Hell engulfed his mind every time the dream repeated itself.

Again and again he watched his two closest friends in the world, no, _all of existence,_ get devoured by ghosts that were falling apart at the seams, and by the time he rocketed to the spot, shrieking and baring his teeth, the ghosts had destabilized into piles of ectoplasmic goo and nothing was left of his friends.

Every second his brain cells played the scene over and over, he was tossing and turning in his sheets, seeing with vivid clarity the end of people that no one could replace. Like an unhindering echo, the glowing green slime splattered onto the ground, and Danny felt like thousands of serrated blades were hacking away at him from the inside out, making a sport of throwing his soul into a vat of acid.

He felt helpless. Useless.

It wasn't a surprise that he woke up screaming.

As his conscious mind caught up with the real world, his ragged breathing regulated and he paused long enough to listen apprehensively for footsteps. The house betrayed no noise, and he sat up in his bed, alone with jumbled thoughts.

One thing stood out like neon lights in the dark.

He didn't deserve his friends if he couldn't save them.


	4. Under-Appreciated

Danielle hated being a clone.

A mere copy. A shadow of an original.

And an original that seemed to live with colors flying, at that. She was just black and white and gray. _Mostly_ gray.

She didn't matter in the slightest. It was a small urge that lead her to feel that she needed something to fill her insignificant void.

All she had wanted was to help people.

And she had thought she had been doing pretty well, actually. A few recognized her globally as an obvious ally of the notorious Phantom, and many thanked her with gratitude for her help with the influx of malevolent ghosts throughout region after region. She had worked hard. She had felt valued.

The blank, lusterless eyes of the boy embedded in the smoking asphalt at the foot of the towering building as she hung in the air, too far away, changed all of that.

She could never be the shining silver that Danny was.

She was always going to be just simply, irreversibly _gray_.


	5. Girl Power

Sam Manson was a feminist.

No one could take that from her. In fact, no one _dared._

Maybe Dash and his cronies made fun of her and her friends. Maybe Paulina swished her glossy black hair under Sam's nose just to irritate the goth on a daily basis.

So what?

The popular girl's followers, Star especially, saw it fit to practice Paulina's hate tactics against Sam and the other "losers". They'd get made fun of, ratted out, and just straight up bullied, but only everyone _besides_ Sam got shoved in a locker four times a day.

The reason?

They were _scared_ of her.

She was Sam Manson. They didn't like her gothic, dark-themed ways, her thick black eyeliner and pale skin covered by even darker pitch-black clothes. They didn't like her individuality, her strong voice, her purple lipstick; they didn't like _her_.

She was the unknown. She was different. They feared everything about her.

She liked it that way.

So she'd take the verbal abuse, because she knew she had the willpower to stand against it and _keep_ standing. She was the voice of reason to Danny and Tucker, and if they didn't have her, how would they ever cope with their bullies if she wasn't by their side?

She was the buffer. She was her own person, and could handle things herself.

Dash and Kwan hardly ever laid a hand on her, they were so terrified of what the "goth loser's" reaction would be. And man, if they ever even did, they'd get a swift kick somewhere _conveniently_ sensitive, a nice sarcastic mouthful of harsh words, and by then, her ghost boy and favorite tech geek would have arrived to snarl their own comebacks.

It was fool-proof.

She was fighting fire with fire, sure, but it had worked so far. Her tormentors didn't particularly know who she was as a person, even though she definitely did. They made themselves feel better about the goth that actually had some power in the school, therefore a threat, by yelling and calling her names, putting down her friends, and criticizing the rest of the student body that didn't fit the slate of "popular".

So the day Danny snapped, she didn't blame him.

He'd just gotten back from dealing with a few ghosts that were _really_ into robbing banks, and had suffered a number of punches he couldn't have gotten around. Sam could tell he was just _furious_ that a single ghost had made a getaway with a huge wad of cash and he wasn't able to stop it. The fact that he'd missed lunch over it probably didn't help, either.

Of course, Dash had decided to pick that day to grab the half-ghost by the throat and attempt to shove him in a locker.

The usual three of them had been en route to their next class, Lancer's, when Danny was animatedly ranting about how the ghost robber had literally slipped through his fingers; Dash took the opportunity to sneak up on them.

The result was instantaneous.

The half ghost's eyes had blazed a brilliant green, and he'd proceeded to nearly take a chunk out of Dash's hand with his teeth as he slid into intangibility and ripped free.

Dash had howled in pain when his flesh was freshly ripped open, and it only resulted in the large blond grabbing for Danny again. The smaller boy had already realized his mistake all too late, and attempted to shuffle away from Dash as fast as he could.

He didn't make it far.

Dash swooped in, wrapped a thick left hand around Danny's scrawny throat, and hefted him up in the air so they were nose to nose.

Sam had instinctively jumped towards her friend, only to have her arm almost ripped from its socket as Kwan held her back. She swiveled and spat in his face, but he only wrinkled his nose and snagged her other arm. She struggled to get a grip as she tried in vain to get to her friend.

A swift glance to the side confirmed that Tucker was in a similar situation.

The sound of a body smashing into metal brought her eyes straight back to Danny.

Dash was standing over him now, the halfa sitting hunched at the foot of a row of lockers dented in his shape.

"Did you just... _bite_ me, you little freak?"

The muscular football player practically held his right hand out for the gathering crowd to inspect. Gasps of horror resounded.

"Holy shit!"

"Fenton did that?"

"Wait. Isn't that that hot redhead's brother or something? No way."

Sure enough, a jagged tear stretched from the base of Dash's first finger to the connector point of his thumb. Crimson oozed; slipped to the tile at the jock's shoes.

Sam didn't care.

Finally able to cross her arms behind her back, she gripped onto Kwan's letterman jacket sleeves, just within reach. She pulled hard, dragging herself closer to the mammoth athlete, and stomped down as hard as she possibly could on his flimsy sneakers with her heavy combat boots.

The yowl of surprise was all she needed to get away.

She kicked back as Kwan let go of her arms, shrieking, "Frick! Get her!" and she bolted the few feet to intercept Dash.

Suddenly everyone was staring at her.

Dash loomed overhead, but she held her ground. Danny didn't need to get punched in the gut any more than he already had. He didn't deserve any of it.

Dash did. Probably those ghosts, too.

.

Baxter nursed his hand with a grimace, but quickly steeled his appearance; all eyes were on him. "Well, if it isn't Fenturd's little freak _girlfriend_. Think you can protect your precious _loser?"_

Sam wanted to cut a slab of Dash's sneer straight off his face and chuck it in acid, nerves still attached.

Her eyes narrowed as she shoved her flush back into her soul. "He's not my boyfriend. He's my _best. Friend._ "

The crowd was joining in, now. She could hear Paulina's accented voice proclaiming that Danny should get expelled. That Dash should give him a good uppercut to teach him a lesson. Her satellites purred their approval of her words. Others agreed and wanted him to get Danny back _good_. The weaker voices of the nerds were actually cheering for the young Fenton to survive.

Dash towered over Sam by at least a foot. "No one gives a d _amn_ , Manson." Retracting, he held his injured hand close, taking on a wobbly, manic tone to his voice. "Your boyfriend's probably freaking _rabid!"_

Gasps at the inane possibility erupted in the crowd.

"I don't wanna get bit!"

" _God_ , he's gonna kill us all!"

"There's gonna be a fucking pandemic, isn't there."

"Shouldn't he be foaming at the mouth or something?"

The chatter bought Sam time to glance back at Danny for a nanosecond. He was cautiously picking himself up off the floor, rubbing at his throat. Their eyes locked.

A loud swish of hushing noises swept through the hallway, making Sam instantly search for the source and take her eyes off her friend.

A long line of students began to part and make way for a particularly bald-headed man.

"Shit," Sam muttered under her breath. She caught sight of Tucker being released from the hands of the other football player.

Dash sent a sardonic smirk her way, pressurizing her blood hard enough to set her veins popping.

The jock rushed to the English-teacher-turned-vice-principal and wailed, "Mr. Lancer!" He threw in a sniff for good measure, pouting with his lips, "Fe-Fenton _bit_ me!"

Dash very nearly shoved his gnashed hand under Lancer's nose.

At the sight of the blood dripping from his student's hand, Lancer instantly recoiled, eyes nearly flying out of their sockets. His pupils hardened when everyone adopted a stare.

" _White Fang!_ What in the name of Jack London did you _do_ , Mr. Baxter?"

Sam felt the words rising in her throat, bubbling on her tongue-

"I dunno! It wasn't my fault, honest...it was him!"

The larger boy shied away from Danny and Sam, flailing his hands desperately at them. Scarlet sprinkled on the smooth flooring. "He just went all crazy and jumped me, Mr. Lancer! I was so _scared._ "

Kwan stepped closer to his quarterback. "Yeah! I totally saw everything. It happened just like Dash said! Fenton's _crazy_."

Rage boiled in Sam's arteries.

She opened her mouth. Felt it snap shut.

Lancer turned sharply on his heel to face the halfa, eyes blazing. His voice thundered. "My office, Mr. Fenton. _Now_. " He took a great sweeping step and wrapped his fingers in the boy's shirt sleeve. Sam saw Danny visibly tense, the corners of his mouth twitching. A small smattering of red stained his bottom lip. "We do _not_ bite others."

The man's gaze swept the corridor. Dragged over Sam. She could have sworn goosebumps rose on her flesh. He nodded to Dash, sympathy softening his features. "Go on to the nurse and get yourself cleaned up, Mr. Baxter."

Sam caught the asshat's mischievious shark smile as Lancer turned his back.

Soon-to-be-wrongly-punished-student and unknowing staff member became an elaborate procession down the hallway as students parted in their wake, already gossiping at a mile a minute.

Sam instantly followed after them, and Tucker soon rushed over and caught up to her, massaging his wrists. He managed out of the corner of his mouth, "What in the _hell_ was all that?"

The goth only shook her head, crunching her teeth together ferociously as she plowed through the mass of students beginning to spread over the hallway.

She unhinged her jaw to start protesting to Lancer when a blur of ginger and turquoise cut in from the side, dodging between students like a hunted woodcock through trees.

"Mr. Lancer!"

Danny spun before the English teacher did. "Jazz?"

The tall redhead seemed to completely forget whatever words she was about to say as her eyes zeroed in on her brother. Her mouth fell open as she grabbed for his shoulders. "Danny, look at you!" Sam was close enough to see the pure worry drown out any other emotion on her face. And with good reason, too. Scrapes littered the half-ghost's skin, both from the ghost fight no more than twenty minutes ago and the incident with Dash. His neck was tinged with reddish-pink, only half out of embarrassment.

Mr. Lancer cleared his throat, and Jazz sobered herself, turning. The fire was back in her eyes. Sam actually smirked.

"Mr. Lancer, Danny-"

Lancer instantly held up a hand. "Miss Fenton...if you're here to vouch for your brother, I suggest that you refrain from doing so."

Jazz didn't even pause for breath. "That's just it, though! I'm not vouching. I'm providing _evidence._ "

Sam snorted, drawing closer out of support and wonder to what Danny's sister was going to try and rope Lancer with. Nothing seemed to get drilled through the man's skull besides every phrase in English literature.

The elder Fenton snagged her brother's arm and dragged him the few feet over. "Jazz-"

"Look." Ignoring his protest, her delicate fingers poked at the already inflamed area of his throat. Danny tried to pull away.

Lancer's eyes widened, finally taking in the scratches and days-old bruises. He focused on the large finger impressions on Danny's neck. "Oh, _Black Beauty!_ " Jazz leaned forward as Lancer's hand rose to his mouth. "How long has this been going on?" He wheeled on the redhead. "Tell me you're not hurt as well!"

A flicker of confusion crossed Jazz's features."No, I'm-"

"I never took your parents to behave-"

Danny suddenly reeled back, finally shaking off his sister's hand. " _What?_ "

The teacher's face dropped. Students paused in the hallway. Sam stiffened.

"You...you think this is from my _parents?_ " Danny shook his head fervently, anger and bewilderment edging his voice. "You think that they would-"

Lancer took a step back. "Mr. Fenton-"

Danny cut him off, squeezing his eyes shut. "No."

"Then-"

"No."

Silence hung in the air. Some students continued on cautiously, fumbling with their books. Tucker shuffled with his sleeves. The late bell finally rang.

Sam opened her mouth again.

"It was Dash. Dash Baxter."

And damn, did Danny glare at her with those icy blue eyes. All of Dash's supporters still milling the hallway did, too, but Danny's gaze out-valued every single one of them.

Too bad it was worth it.


End file.
